‘So don’t do anything silly, okay?’ says the policewoman. ‘Listen. We know you’ve had some issues in the past.’

‘I’m not leaving here without my daughter.’

‘Let’s give Mr Ray the respect and space he needs. He’s entitled to enjoy his home without fans mobbing the gates.’

‘He’s allowed his privacy,’ chimes the male police officer, coming forward to grab my arm.

Fury rises to the surface. ‘Michael isn’t a good person. He’s fooling you. All of you. It’s what he does.’

‘Get away from the gate right now, Miss Miller,’ says the policeman, tugging at me. ‘Right now. I’m this close to arresting you.’

‘Arrest me?’ I cling tight to the bars. ‘What a bunch of bullshit. Do you know what happened behind these gates? Do you have any idea what Michael’s capable of?’

‘Come down now, Miss Miller. Or we’ll be forced to remove you.’

I try to climb but feel hands grab my ankles and wrists.

‘You’re his puppets,’ I yell as my fingers are peeled from the bars. When my boot accidentally hits the policeman in the face, he loses his temper.

‘Get down now!’

‘Keep it calm, PC Holmes,’ says the policewoman. ‘Let’s all stay nice and calm, shall we?’

Eventually they pry me off the gate and drag me flailing and shouting to the police car. I’m proud to say it takes them at least twenty minutes. I’m nothing like the skinny little girl who cried her eyes out over Prince Michael all those years ago.

Not anymore.

Once upon a time …

Welcome to your new life at Michael’s mansion, Lorna. Lady of the house. Queen of the castle.

I cried all afternoon in that turret bedroom, lying on the single mattress, looking up at an unpainted ceiling of raw pink plaster. I wanted to go home. I wanted my sister. I wanted to eat. But more than any of those things, I wanted Michael to come up here and tell me he loved me.

As dusk fell, I was too hungry to cry anymore. So I used the black paint and stiff brush to draw a silhouette of Johnny Rotten over the fireplace.

Michael was still downstairs with his wife, Diane. Did he love her? Were they still having sex?

As I put the finishing touches to Johnny Rotten’s eyebrows, the smell of steak and fries drifted up the stairs.

That was it. The absolute limit. I hadn’t eaten all day and I was starving. Michael hadn’t bothered to feed me. This had been a regular thing on tour – probably because Michael thought I should stay skinny – but tonight was different. He and his wife were eating dinner together, while I was stuck up here, hungry, looking at streaky painted walls.